


Trance

by twinkling_skies



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Dancer, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Oneshot, Trainee, but pls read, but rly not, cheeky hyojong as always, idrk how to tag this, non-au, not smut tho, oppa kink????, request, supposed to be fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 18:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkling_skies/pseuds/twinkling_skies
Summary: Where hyojong bumps into you (a trainee at CUBE) while you’re having a solo dance practice session.





	Trance

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on my Pentagon tumblr blog! (@ pentagonthings)

Hyojong lifts his arm to read the time on his watch and can’t hide the grimace that shows. It’s already close to midnight and he still has lyrics to sort through and choreography to polish up. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, Hyojong continues his walk into the company building with hip hop blasting in his ears. Hopefully, he’ll be able to wrap things up by 5 am and get at least 3 hours of sleep.

As he ponders over how his night is going to play out, Hyojong stumbles into his editing room and reaches back to flip the light switches on. Except the lights are already on. And this isn’t his editing room. In fact, it’s one of the practice rooms which he was supposed to go to after he had tidied up and organised his song. Hyojong looks up and his mouth falls open as a warmth creeps up the back of his neck. He can’t believe he just walked into an occupied practice room on accident. How embarrassing. He rubs his forehead, ruffles his hair under his hood, and is about to sneak out the door when the song playing on his phone ends and he realises that one of his songs is playing in the background. Hyojong plucks his headphones off his head and finally takes in the girl who is dancing to his music. He’s mesmerised. (not for the first time)

The fluidity of the melody flows through your spine and gets expelled through the tips of your fingers and your toes. The all too familiar burn in your lungs is welcomed by the cool breathes your suck in. You can’t really focus on the lyrics because the beat itself is a labyrinth, but the familiar voice puts a bit of spark in every one of your movements. It’s electrifying yet its current is somehow a gentle buzzing under your skin. Your twists are firm and your turns are sharp. Willing your body to depict the image and emotions is your end goal; to express your inner conflicts, elation, even exhaustion. Dancing had been your form of expression and creation since you were a child who watched street performers and idols come to life in squared boxes that had glass screens. It is the whole reason why you’re here in this brightly lit practice room in the CUBE Entertainment building; training to be the main dancer of a soon to debut group. Many had told you and are still telling you that dreams are fickle while reality is harsher than the stench of ammonia, but you’ve never given their comments a chance to plant the seed of doubt in your heart. You’ve never stopped believing in your passion, so why should you ever?

The room echoes with heavy breaths when the song comes to an end, and your heartbeat pounds in your chest. You practically collapse to the ground, not caring about the pain when your shoulder hits it. When breathing starts to get hard, which doesn’t take very long, you force yourself to turn over to stare up at the bright lights. It’s almost as if you had just run a marathon. Except you wouldn’t know how that feels because you’ve never experienced one. Groaning, you move to roll over to your duffel bag to get your towel. But within the first half turn, you note that there’s somebody standing in front of the door, watching you for God knows how long now. You gather yourself hastily and scramble up to bow in greeting, not catching who the person really is. How much more embarrassing can this get?

And the very moment you straighten to steal a glance at the person, you know exactly how much more embarrassing life is going to be for you. The song you were breathing in, the lyrics you were flowing with, the beat your heart was pumping to, were made by the very person in front of you. He’s quiet. Really quiet. You sneak a longer look at your senior and realisation smacks you so hard you literally stumble. He’s hardly judging you or finding anything amusing. Instead, Kim Hyojong is gawking at you, speechless. You start gaping back because it doesn’t make sense. But as he stares at you and you stare back at him, it gets tougher to doubt yourself. Though you are starting to get self-conscious about your clothing choice; sweatpants, sports bra, and boots.

As if he has finally forced himself out of some kind of trance, Kim Hyojong fidgets before letting his gaze stray away from you. He’s sporting a faint blush which you have to bite your lip to avoid breaking out into a silly grin.

“That…was my song.” He speaks up, glancing at you once again, but only fleetingly. You look down at yourself and remember that you’re in your sports bra and although it’s very normal for dancers, it must still be uncomfortable for others. “O-oh.” You hurry over to your duffel bag to fetch your shirt. While you’re shrugging it on, you continue speaking. “I um…I know it was your song, Sunbae.” You offer a little awkward chuckle when you’re done. The polished floor of the practice room is now your best friend.

“You dance really well.”

Your head shoots up at the clear compliment and a wide smile takes over your face. “Thank you, Sunbae! I was trying to match the theme and mood of your song using my own emotions but I’m not really sure if I was able to do so.” You ramble, head obviously ahead of your heart in this race. Kim Hyojong breaks out into a soft laugh and you think that you’re melting.

“It was exactly what I was trying to portray, to be honest. It’s why I was so stunned earlier on.” He sounds slightly embarrassed but his words give you goosebumps.

“Yeah, I get how you’re feeling.” He laughs a little louder this time after seeing your expression. You smile a little, knots of nervousness still tightly wound in your stomach, eyes still on the ground. He continues to stand there and so do you. Silently, as if not wanting to leave even though there was practically nothing else to be said. Your lungs are probably shrivelling up from you holding your breath for so long.

“Sorry if I interrupted you, by the way. I somehow mistook this for the editing room…not sure how that happened..”

You shake your head furiously at your senior’s apology. “Not at all! I didn’t even realise you walked in until I finished anyway.” Cue your soft awkward laughing. Quickly, you turn back to your duffel bag in search for your towel because it is hot in here and you can feel droplets of sweat rolling down your neck. It’s quiet again so your glance up into the mirror in front of you only to see your senior’s reflection watching you with glossy eyes. You stiffen but try to play it cool, and you know that something always goes wrong when you try to be cool but you still do, and you trip over your own freakin’ legs as you stand back up from a kneel. Your face is probably inches away from the sun, and you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment. Then you hear his soft chuckle right in front of you and you can’t help but let your eyes reopen. His hand is stretched out in front of you, waiting for a handshake. Confused, you gawk up at him. He smiles, eyes forming curves.

“I’m Hyojong, nice to meet you.” Your jaw drops. Because your senior, who you’ve been looking up to since you heard his music, is offering to be friends. Kim Hyojong is offering to be your friend. E’Dawn in the flesh is grinning at you and asking to be your friend. Practically melting, you finally smile and reach out for his hand. His fingertips are cold but his palm is warm.

You introduce yourself and it’s not exactly surprising when your words come out sounding close to a sigh, but you still blush. You’re practically fawning over him. It’s not a good image at all.

“Sorry, I’m kind of sweaty from all the dancing.” You pull your hand back and apologise, embarrassed. He just smiles and shakes his head.

“Are you packing up soon?” He asks, pushing his hands back into his hoodie’s pockets. Your nod makes him grin for some reason, so you cock your head to one side and raise your brows in question.

“Maybe you could tell me if the track I’m working on right now is worthy of your dancing.”

The editing room is everything you had expected it to be; a comfortable squeeze. However, you had never thought twice about there being posters and photographs strewn across the walls. Movie posters and posters of bands and idol groups (some of the company’s senior groups) occupy the wall opposite the desk. Whereas numerous photographs overlap each others’ corners on the wall right next to the editing desk; bright smiles and intertwined arms showing off times of pure joy and twinkling mischief. The desk, which the computer and keyboard sit on, is neatly organised with folders arranged alphabetically. Kim Hyojong had never struck you as someone who would care particularly about organising, not that you ever saw him as a messy person though. Perhaps music is just that important to him. Despite the fact that you’ve seen many enter before, the room feels like one that does not get to meet new people very often because of the blanketing intimacy it provides. It’s strange, the feeling of a safe haven, in the best way possible.

While you’re admiring the photographs, it registers in your peripheral that your senior simply heads straight to start up the computer, set up the keyboard and position the microphone with practised ease and familiarity. With your bag still hanging off your shoulder, you turn to watch him; observe him. His hair looks really soft under the dimmed lighting and the temptation to walk over to brush out the messiness of it is great. His fingers don metal rings while his ears are rid of any accessories; it’s comfortable.

“Gonna just stand there with your bag?” He asks, mirth lacing his voice, without turning around in his chair to look at you. That’s when you realise with a start that he must have been watching you through the reflection in the computer screen. Squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment, you chastise yourself then place your bag on the couch that’s placed below the photographs and pad over to the empty seat beside your senior. He hands you a pair of head headphones, the only ones connected to the computer, and leans back into his seat to observe you with this look which makes you feel the need to impress. The stress is real and you might be sweating. Out of habit, you tug your lower lip between your teeth before letting it loose. He sniffles a little before coughing to clear his throat. This sends your mind stumbling, and you do what you do best under stressful conditions; shut your eyes and let the music make you disappear.

It’s a gentle quietness at first but, very quickly, a track strolls in. Almost as if it’s been waiting for you the whole time and now that you’ve appeared, it’s stepping out from behind the pillar. Soon enough, it’s pacing thoughtfully around you with its head cocked to one side and its eyes locked onto yours, which are glued to your bare feet. One of your uneven breaths get a little too deep and it jerks to a halt, perpendicular to you. It waits and waits. You can’t help but admire the shoes on its feet. It’s when you look up into its very eyes, that it sparkles. It grabs your wrist and you’re suddenly running, bare feet against rough cement which morphs into soft grass. Sweet wind pushes against the pores in your skin. In the distance, where the glowing radiates warmth, there’s familiar laughter. The music is still tugging you along by your wrist towards the pink warmth. That’s your laughter; it’s everywhere. The music slows to a stop only to take your other hand in its own, then you’re dancing. Spinning and swaying, then skipping and laughing. You look up to search for clouds, but there are none. So you fly to find clouds of coloured mist; you’re lulled. When you open your eyes again, you’re back where you started. Alone. You admire the too-big shoes on your feet until everything fades away.

You open your eyes with a start because your heart is light but it is also longing for something. Although it makes you want to smile, your laugh comes out sounding sad. Almost with disbelief.

“Why would you end it like that?” You ask softly, eyes still glossed over.

A sharp exhale.

“What did you feel?” A curious voice.

Turning to stare straight into his wide eyes, you reply.

“Excitement hidden by wariness. Curiosity. A rush…of…” You shake your head. “A rush of happiness and liveliness and the feeling of being able to do..anything. The feeling of..wanting..to be able to do anything. Like the feeling of falling for something. Somebody, maybe. But it just trails off like…the rest of the story is yet to be told.” Goosebumps rush over your arms, and only then does it register in your mind that you’re back in the editing room. You had been entirely bewitched by the music.

“Holy fuck.”

He’s smiling as if he’s in shock but also like he’s amazed.

“W-what?” You ask, slowly leaning back cautiously with your cheeks aflame.

“You’re my muse. You…are my muse.” Never once did you hope for yourself to turn into a goldfish, but here you are.

“This might be creepy, but I’ve seen you dance before. And that was what inspired this piece. I didn’t think–I don’t think anybody has ever interpreted my songs in such a similar fashion to mine.” If you were a goldfish, would you still be his muse?

Your gaping definitely isn’t stopping anytime soon.

He speaks again, this time voice gentler, “You’re my muse.” You fidget, heart ready to burst. He’s just kidding. Even with those earnest eyes and a hopeful voice.

“S-since when? If I remember c-correctly, people normally ask somebody if they want to be their muse.” Holy crap, the things you’ll be missing out on. “So I’m just going to go now. Thank you for letting m-”

You move to stand but he stands with you and his fingers are suddenly resting around your wrist. They’re warm and gentle on your pulse.

“Won’t you be my muse?” Kim Hyojong’s eyes are shining. His sincerity hits you so hard that your heart nearly falls straight into nothingness.

Swallowing, you stare at the spot where your skin is meeting his; warm, comforting, and right. God, darn the fickleness of your resolve.

“Won’t you get some jjajangmyeon, Sunbae? I’m starving.” Your voice comes out cautiously but the playful tinge in your eyes makes him laugh. His laugh is just like his music; full of emotion and simply enchanting. It makes you soften like frozen yogurt melting under the gentle sun.

“Only if you stop with the formalities.” Your eyes snap up to meet his like the unlike poles of magnets.

“H-hyojong…” In your head, your heart pounds.

Why? Just, why is this happening to you?

“Oppa.” He prompts with a cheeky grin. You blush even further.

This guy needs to stop because your heart is now his prey.

“Hyojong o-oppa.” The palpitating pulse in your wrist presses harder against his fingers as your eyes dart around. Hyojong chuckles and massages his thumb against your pulse gently before letting your arm swing loose. He’s dialling the delivery service number for jjajangmyeon in no time as if he hadn’t just attacked you. As if he hadn’t just made you do his bidding. Your knees are basically seconds away from giving out, so you immediately sit back down, shell-shocked. Gaping, you scold yourself for giving in that easily to those glowing eyes. Those eyes that shot sun rays straight through your damned palpitating organ; hot enough to make it sweat, but only, ever, in a good way.

And then it strikes you like lightning in a dry storm.

Hyojong just told you that the song had been inspired by you. The song which he had confirmed to be about a crush. Your wrist tingles with the heat he left behind so you grab it with your other hand, but the tingling just doesn’t fade. Now he’s really got to be kidding. None of this even make sense, not even the act of him getting jjajangmyeon for you merely because you asked him to. And the way he held onto your wrist. Was that flirting? Doubt weighs on your shoulders as you remind yourself of the many times you had read too much into things. It makes your eyes fall closed for a moment as you sigh quietly, feeling rather disappointed in yourself for repeating the same mistake.

Spacing out about all that while still sitting in the same room as the very person probably wasn’t the best idea, because you literally jerk when he calls your name fondly. Fondly. These mind tricks need to end themselves.

“Y-yes?” Hyojong purses his lips with a small frown.

“I creeped you out, didn’t I?” You want to tell the truth, but your voice doesn’t budge.

“Sorry. I was just really excited, I think.” He continues, when he sees your large eyes and stiff expression, with a shy laugh. Scratching the back of his neck, he breaks eye contact to think. By now, you’re starting to feel a little guilty for making things hard for your senior even though you were really just caught off guard. Another sigh leaves you. If the Japanese were right about sighing taking years off of your life, you’d probably be dead by now.

“It’s alright. I– it just really– I was really surprised. Especially after I listened to your song.” You laugh, slightly embarrassed to voice out the next part. “Your song really put me in a…daze or something.”

Hyojong nods while processing your words before his lips stretch into a gummy smile. His mouth opens for words to roll out, but they’re interrupted by the almost violent buzzing of his phone against the table top behind you. Without hesitation, he leans over you to grab his phone from where he left it earlier on, and the scent of his cologne surrounds you. It takes everything in you to hold back from drawing in a deep breath. Almost immediately, though, you’re tensing up with fear about your deodorant and change of clothes not being enough to mask the fact that you perspire a lot when you dance. And for some reason, Hyojong decides to ignore the incoming call to prop his hand on the table and lean back slightly so that his face is merely inches away from yours. Your eyes meet and you can’t seem to look away no matter how much you want to. Your heart pounds, forcing blood to rush to your already rosy cheeks. The loud buzzing somehow fades as you hold your breath, afraid of what might happen if you don’t. It’s only when he lets out an adoring chuckle that’s accompanied by a teasing smile that you notice that the buzzing has stopped. Hyojong lifts a hand to gently tuck stray strands of hair behind your ear just before the perfectly timed buzzing resumes, successfully persuading him to grab his phone to pick up the call. He straightens away from you, pushing his free hand into the pocket of his hoodie, and greets the caller. A trace of surprise shows on his face, and then he’s fumbling around for his wallet and turning to leave the room.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” He tells you quietly while reaching for the door, ear still stuck to his phone.

As soon as the door clicks close, your body sags into the chair, head falling back. Your mouth is dry, face is hot, and even your hands are trembling with adrenaline. It’s hard to tell if you want to jump around the room excitedly or crouch over to bury your face in your hands. Never have you dreamed about such a situation happening to you. Especially not when Kim Hyojong, your senior slash low-key crush is involved. Isn’t there so rule which forbids idols from the same company from getting involved in anything more than friendship? God, what are you getting into?

Hyojong is back within minutes, with two bowls of jjajangmyeon and another plate of food that smells a lot like dumplings. You must look really excited because Hyojong starts laughing the most gentle laugh while watching your eyes light up. Blushing, you ignore his look and hold out your hands to receive your bowl. The only problem is that he pulls the food away instead, and smiles mischievously at you. You gulp, faintly aware of what he has in mind. You’re shaking your head furiously before his words even leave his parted lips.

“No no no. Please no. I have already surpassed my daily–no, monthly limit of-”

“Oh wow! Two bowls of jjajangmyeon and a whole serving if dumplings just for me? How kind!”

Dread swims in your wide eyes. He’s joking, right? Hyojong simply hugs the food to his chest with a triumphantly toothy grin, all while ignoring the look of betrayal on your face. You grit your teeth and suck in a deep breath.

“Thank you for the food,” his grin grows, and you purse your lips. “Hyojong oppa.”

“Not at all! Here, eat up.” His reply comes instantly, accompanied by his pleased expression. And, thankfully, your food is passed to you. But it’s not done without a soft pat on your head which gets you flustered all over again. Fortunately, you have a bowl of jjajangmyeon to dig into, giving you a reason to avoid eye contact. Time passes with the feeling of Hyojong’s rather obvious stares as you consciously place food into your mouth, afraid of getting into the embarrassingly clichéd drama scene where the male lead leans forward to clean sauce off the female lead’s lips. The only thing that keeps you from shutting down is Hyojong finally deciding, after 5 agonising minutes, to pick up his own pair of chopsticks. It’s quiet, with the exception of the sounds of chewing, but for some reason, the tension isn’t as thick as before. It almost feels like you’re hanging out with a good friend. He asks casual questions about you from time to time and, eventually, it dawns on you that Hyojong is really just a simple person who gets amused at the dumbest puns and scoffs when he hears of bad experiences you’ve had with snarky people. By the end of your meal, you learn that Hyojong’s just like any other typical guy out there, except he’s also not. You’ve watched him for 3 years now as a trainee and you’ve been known as a very observant person.

Hyojong enjoys playful banter, rough housing, and coy teasing just as much as every other typical guy. He even follows the trend of pretending not to care about anything. But the thing which sets him apart from the general male population is how he goes against the currents throws himself at the suffocating whirls despite his fears. And the very same brave Hyojong still gets pink in his cheeks when praised, when he shyly reaches out to initiate skinship, and when he bashfully speaks his mind about his affection. This Hyojong is the one who gives gummy smiles and soft-eyed looks when his heart is exploding with happiness.

Kim Hyojong is the one who wants you as his muse and looks at you with glowing eyes and sweet smiles that he’s unaware of. And maybe, just maybe, one day you will be the one he caresses by the neck while planting the most loving kiss on your lips.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have no idea how I made it how it is, but I kind of like the part about the song. idek :p I was rather sick when writing that so it feels like a trance-ish bit. I also realise that this isn’t as fluffy as I wanted it to be. I cannot fluff??? ;-; I hope you like it though! 3am. Send help


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